


The Path to Heaven

by northerndanpour (nagirci)



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF), Video Blogging & YouTube RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Brief and Vague Mention of KickTheStickz, Fluff, Gen, okay im gonna put up some of my other work now enjoy, ppl like this on tumblr so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 09:44:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1505885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagirci/pseuds/northerndanpour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If a clock could count down to the moment you meet your soulmate, would you want to know?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Path to Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> ppl enjoyed this on the tumblr so i hope you do too i jUST I HAD SO MUCH FUN WRITING THIS OKAY

It’s on his wrist.

Everyone has one, so he’s noticed as his eyes travel around the classroom that he’s in, but what he’s also noticed is that everyone has a different amount of time imprinted on their wrist. Some have a matter of hours, some have days - some even have several years to wait. And as that becomes even more apparent to him, Miss Fletcher’s words somehow blur into the background as she prattles on and on and  _on_  about the Great Fire of London. The classroom is only small, with only a few children in there with him, but every wrist wears a different number and, to Phil Lester, that’s absolutely fascinating.

He knows what each number means, of course. His mum told him a few months ago, when he turned seven and old enough to really understand the idea of loving someone so much that you spend forever with them and the thought that someone, somewhere, wears the same amount of time that he does. And he was confused at first, of course he was, but now he thinks that he understands completely. No, he  _knows_  that he does, because he’s big and clever enough to know what it all means. He’s big and clever enough to know what exactly it is that the amount of time on his wrist signifies.

And the thought of it hitting zero is such a weird one. He barely thinks about it, because he’s got such a long way to go, but sometimes he just sits staring as the seconds tick by. He has so many years to go before it actually happens. But sometimes he can’t help but wonder what it’ll be like to have a girlfriend, to really find someone and really love them and all because a watch tells him that he’s going to. He knows that he doesn’t  _really_ understand how it all works, and that he won’t until he’s much bigger – all he knows is that it’s going to happen to him, someday, years away, and he doesn’t know whether to be happy or sad about that.

“Phil, darling, are you alright?” Miss Fletcher says gently as she places a worksheet down on the desk, rousing Phil from his stupor. He grins at her, nods quickly, because he is, he’s _fine_. And as he looks down at the sheet of paper before him, he’s even  _finer_  because it’s colouring, and he loves colouring very much. Grin widening, he takes a few crayons from the box that the dark-haired young woman is holding out to him and says “Yes, Miss Fletcher. Thank you, Miss Fletcher.” She returns his smile, maybe slightly nervously, as she says “You’re welcome, sweetheart,” and skitters off to help a little girl with dark plaits and even darker eyes.

He frowns a little after her. She didn’t seem quite herself. Normally, Miss Fletcher is the type of teacher that stays with him and helps him through things that he doesn’t understand about the work, and she’s the type of teacher that likes to hear stories about what he did over the weekend with his friends, and she’s the type of teacher that he really likes because she’s a lot like his  _friend_. But today, now that he thinks about it, she’s been all wrist rubbing and lip biting and reading stiffly from her teacher book, and for a moment, Phil wonders what might be wrong because he’s very worried.

But he doesn’t worry for long, because as she scurries past him again he catches sight of her wrist, just in time to see the numbers  _01h 45m 16s_ flash upon the small display.

*~*~*~*~*

One minute and twenty four seconds.

Dan looks down at the counter with wide and apprehensive eyes, even though he’s known that this was going to happen today for years. He’s known since he was a child what the watches mean, and this one is ticking closer and closer to zero with each moment that flies past. And watching that happen right before his eyes, well, he doesn’t know how to feel. It’s a weird mixture of exhilarating and terrifying, he supposes, not something that he’s ever felt before. Of course, he’s been watching something like this for years, but whenever he’s watched he’s always had so long to go. And now this watch, well, it’s a mere minute away from what has been expected for years now.

He doesn’t even know why he’s so anxious. People have told him about this so many times; it’s hardly surprising to him. It’s not as if he doesn’t know what’s going to happen in a minute or so because he’s heard it rehashed by so many people. His teachers, his friends, his parents – even his damn  _brother_  reminds him almost on a daily basis. This day has been coming for ages, and that timer has been on his wrist for so long, and he’s grown used to the fact that he’s going to meet  _them_ soon, that person who’s going to change his life.

And, for god’s sake, it isn’t even his watch. PJ’s green eyes are wide as they look at the seconds ticking slowly down to zero, and even wider as they flit back up to Dan’s brown ones. Maybe  _that’s_ why Dan is so jittery; because this is his best friend, and this is a day that they’ve both been waiting for, and they’ve been waiting for it since they met, because this was a big day in both their calendars. PJ’s life was about to change, and PJ is Dan’s friend – of  _course_  Dan’s going to be nervous for him. What kind of friend would he be if he wasn’t?

“Thirty seconds,” he murmurs, and shuffles in his seat.

“Hey,” Dan murmurs comfortingly, rubbing PJ’s forearm in a way that he hopes is soothing and not just an awkward attempt at being so. He knows that there’s no point in saying that it’ll be everything that PJ wants it to be, because he knows that there’s the element of uncertainty that it will be. He knows that there’s no point in saying it’ll be okay, because what if it isn’t? So instead, he simply says “I’m here for you, m’kay? Please don’t panic.” And even though he thinks that it won’t be enough, it’s almost as if he can physically see something in PJ calm a little bit, and he exhales a deep breath and says, “Thank you.”

Ten seconds, and PJ might have calmed slightly, but Dan can feel him shaking under his hands and, to be fair, who could blame him? It could be anyone in this room, and the chances of it being someone that PJ would normally go for are relatively low. And PJ’s out of his comfort zone, because soulmates have never been his thing – neither has  _love_ , really, so this is such a huge leap and it’s terrifying. And Dan knows that, and he’s trying his best to keep his cool as the timer flicks from  _three_ , to  _two_ , to  _one_ , and then to nothing.

“Hi ladies,” the voice says confidently, making both of them jump almost right out of their skin. And as they both look up at the owner of the voice, they are a little taken aback. The boy is tall, with tousled brown hair and eyes to match. He wears the most self-assured grin that Dan has ever seen on another person’s face, but it’s not cocky or arrogant. In fact, in an odd way, it has a lopsided kind of friendliness that makes him instantly at ease. And when he takes a quick sideways glance at PJ, he looks a mixture between relieved and dumbfounded. “Which one of you just hit zero?”

After a moment or two, PJ clears his throat and points at himself, with an attempt to return the boy’s smile. “That’d be me,” he says, his voice very nearly catching in his throat. Dan can hear the tiny crack in it as the words force their way into the open, and he realises just how nervous PJ really is. It makes him feel just a little bit sorry for him, actually, because this is not an area in which PJ’s strengths lie. “I’m PJ.” The boy nods, and sits opposite from the pair. “Well then, PJ,” he says, slightly more gently as he senses PJ’s discomfort, “I’m Chris. Looks like you’re going to be stuck with me for a little while.” They both laugh, PJ being a little uncertain, Chris being loud and brash and uncaring as to who hears him.

But Dan, Dan is miles away now. He’s staring at the years, months, days, seconds on the timer, and he doesn’t know if he wants to freeze the remaining time or if he’s wishing for those four years to fly by so that he can be stuck with someone too.

*~*~*~*~*

Phil’s not ready for this.

His legs are shaking, his palms are sweating, and he cannot tear his eyes away from that timer. This is nothing like when he was a child, and when he’d watch those seconds pass just for lack of something better to do; no, this is with a kind of unbridled fear that he can’t describe. This isn’t just the passing of time, this is being so scared that he physically can’t look away. There are so many what if’s going through his mind, and he doesn’t know whether to run or hide or do what, because he’s far too close for comfort now.

He quickly wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans, because he doesn’t want to miss it when the timer hits nothing. Then he’ll finally know how Miss Fletcher felt, he’ll finally understand how happy she was when she came in the next day, how happy she seemed to be whenever he saw her after that. He already understands the nervousness and fear that she seemed to exude that day, because this is massive and,  _fuck_ , he doesn’t know if he’s ready for this. He’s twenty six, and even though some of his friends found theirs while they were still in school, he feels like he’s too  _young_.

His eyes scan around the room briefly, just to give him something to look at other than the damn watch. Of course he’s going to meet them in a bookshop; where else would he meet them? This is the only shop he really goes to besides the supermarkets and clothes shops, because he doesn’t really need anything else. He likes to read, he likes it a lot, because it just makes him forget about some things so easily. It takes him somewhere else when he’s in the wrong place, and something about that is so liberating. Honestly, he couldn’t picture meeting  _them_  anywhere else.

He checks his wrist for what must be the millionth time since he walked in. Fifty nine seconds to go.

His heart is hammering wildly as he browses, or pretends to browse, through the books on the shelf. Now it’s so real. Before today, this had been something that he’d always known about and that had become something that was to be worried about later, later, because it was always so far away. Every time he looked, he always had years, months, weeks to worry about it. He’s never had to worry about it now, in the moment. But it’s only a matter of seconds away, and now he’s afraid, because the reality of being with someone forever has finally hit him. And boy, has it hit him hard.

But there’s still that part of him that’s being hopeful, because of what happened to his teacher all those years ago. She was scared, wasn’t she, and now look where she is. Happy, married, everything she could ever have wanted. The path to her heaven was through miles of clouded hell, and she survived. Who knows? It might just be that way for him, too. At least, he’s hoping that it is, because that’s the best thing to do. He’s found that the power of optimism can work like a pair of wings to get you right to where you need to be. And really, how is this any different?

With just a little over twenty five seconds to go, he decides to start looking for  book properly, just to draw his thoughts away from his rapidly thrumming heart and his shaking legs and clammy hands, because maybe if he doesn’t even think about it, it’ll go away. Maybe if he forgets, it won’t be so scary when they come up to him or when he bumps into them. It’s something to hold on to, at the very least, and so he tries to push away the thoughts and focus on the shelves, seeing all the titles and author’s names stand out to him from their places on the shelves.

And then he sees the new Stephen King book on the shelf, and remembers he’s been wanting to read it since it came out, but hasn’t had time. And it might be a menial distraction, but it’s one that he can deal with, because he’s willing to try anything right now. So as the watch on his wrist ticks down from ten, he’s walking toward the shelf, a tiny smile gracing his lips as he looks at the cover and flicks his eyes over the intricately embossed title. It looks like such a good book, and now he’s going to get a copy. Just as a mindless distraction, but strangely enough, that doesn’t bother him.

Three, he’s at the shelf. Two, he’s reaching out to get the book off of the shelf. One, he’s just brushing the dustjacket with his fingers.

And then there’s another hand on the exact same copy, and Phil finds himself drawing his hand back as if he’s been burned. The other hand draws back too, and when Phil looks at the owner of the hand, any fear he might have felt completely fades because the boy looks just as nervous as he feels. Maybe a little younger than himself, the boy has dark hair that just covers his left eye, and large chocolate brown eyes that are opened so wide that Phil is sure he can see the whites around them. He doesn’t even question the possibility that this isn’t him, because as he checks his wrist, the clock’s at zero, and he doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry or throw up because this is  _it_.

But before he can say anything, the boy just clears his throat and smiles, not quite easily but definitely lacking the edge of nerves that he was displaying a few seconds ago. “Hi,” he says quietly, nodding, his brown eyes inquisitively staring into Phil’s blue ones. “I’m Dan. It appears as though we’re soulmates.” He holds up his own wrists, and as anyone could have predicted, his timer has run down too, right down to the same bland zero that Phil’s has.

And as words fail him, the only thought that Phil can articulate is,  _“Thank god for Stephen King.”_


End file.
